Chapter 5 #2
“I told him,” Pancho declared. She shook the handcuffs binding her. “He cuffed me in response.”
“I cuffed you because you threatened my men.”
“They were breaking my American Eagle up,” Phoebe growled. “Why can’t you admit when you’re wrong?”
Pullman stared at her, his jaw opening, but no words came out of his mouth.
The sheriff stepped forward abruptly, snapping his fingers. Everyone, including Pancho, jumped at the sharp noise. He exclaimed, “I knew I recognized you! You’re Lady Lindy!”
Pancho and the other women winced, but to her credit, Amelia didn’t so much as blink at the hated moniker.
“I am.”
The sheriff continued eagerly, “You’re the gal who flew all the way across the Atlantic Ocean—Amelia Earhart! Can I have your autograph? My missus is a huge fan of yours. She thinks you’re the bravest gal to come along since Joan of Arc!”
Amelia smiled brilliantly at the man. “That’s so sweet of her! Why, I’d be delighted to sign an autograph for her. In fact, if you bring her over to Clover Field tomorrow, I’d be happy to take a photograph with her.”
“Aww, that’s swell. She’s gonna be so excited to meet you!”
Pullman cleared his throat sharply, cutting off the fan fest. “You’re sure this is Miss Earhart, Sheriff?”
“My wife cut her picture out of the newspaper and pinned it beside the bathroom mirror. For inspiration, the missus says. I see it every morning when I shave.” He glanced over at Amelia. “That’s her, all right.”
“I hope I can prevail upon you to be the voice of reason here, Sheriff.” Amelia looked at Pullman pointedly.
The sheriff glanced at Pullman nervously and mumbled, “Uh, I suppose I can be. Can’t say as I’m in the habit of incarcerating ladies of your stature either. Maybe if you’d vouch for your friends, Miss Earhart . . . these fine BOI men might be convinced to, umm . . . well . . . let’s see . . .”
“To agree that this has been a very odd misunderstanding,” Amelia gushed in a tone Pancho’d never heard before from the typically blunt-talking pilot.
“Catching smugglers isn’t my idea of nonsense.
I take it very seriously,” Pullman responded.
“My superiors sent me here because there were reports of dope smugglers. We have evidence of an operation that needs shutting down before this community ends up with the sort of organized crime big cities are invested with.”
Amelia sobered up. “Agent Pullman, if you need a character reference for me, I suggest we call President Calvin Coolidge? He came to meet me in New York when I returned from my transatlantic flight. We had a lovely supper after my ticker-tape parade. I’m sure he’ll vouch for my good character.
I earned his respect by doing something incredibly dangerous but essential to the growth of the aviation industry.
He told me I had a true American patriot’s heart. ”
Pancho had to hold back a smirk as Amelia, cool as a polar bear at the North Pole, stared down the BOI man, silently daring him to phone a former United States president right here, right now.
Pullman stood tall, gauging Amelia. “As you said, we didn’t find anything, but I plan to shut down the smugglers in this town, Sheriff. If you could see what some of the cities have become, you’d thank me for my efforts.”
Pancho held up her wrists expectantly, and Pullman stepped forward to unlock them. Guilt needled her because there was a steadfast quality to the G-man.
“Sorry we ended up on opposite sides,” Pancho offered.
Pullman locked gazes with her for a moment while he replaced his cuffs on his belt. “Hopefully it won’t become a habit.”
It was a warning, and yet Pancho decided she didn’t really mind.
The man had integrity. He cared about his duty.
There wasn’t anything bad about that. Truth was, she admired the quality.
She knew a thing or two about being the person standing between innocent folks and the people who wanted to take advantage of them.
That’s why she’d organized the stunt pilots into a union. Now they got fair pay.
“Hold up there, Pullman,” Pancho said. He turned to look back at her. “Since you’ve taken possession of Phoebe’s plane, could you post men to guard it overnight? She’ll be back in the morning with fuel and a mechanic to fix it up and fly it over to Clover Field for the race.”
Pullman turned and squared off with her. “Expecting trouble?”
“Reporters are tearing all over this corner of California, searching for Phoebe. The second they hear of your suspicions, they are likely to tear every last inch of fabric off the wings.”
Phoebe let out a shocked gasp. “Oh . . . no . . . I’m going to sleep in my plane.”
“The Mono Aircraft Company will likely thank you for safeguarding their new American Eagle so it can fly in the race.”
Pullman’s eyes narrowed. “Thompson, Gates, go watch the plane.” Two agents left the kitchen silently. “Satisfied?”
Pancho found herself trying to swallow her pride enough to thank the man.
“Appreciate it.” And Pancho did.
“We’re late for the final race briefing,” Amelia called to Pancho.
“The only thing you ladies are late for is a date with your own deaths,” Pullman predicted. “I read about that Dole Air Race . . . the one from California to Hawaii . . . ten people dead. Not very attractive odds.” It was a sobering truth. One that sent a ripple through the women in the kitchen.
A surge of pride also passed through Pancho. Not a single one of these women had lost their nerve or given up flying after the disastrous Dole race two years ago. They all still strapped into their planes and flew nearly every day. Dang, but she loved these ladies.
She rose to her feet with Phoebe and Marvel.
But as the other women headed for the back door, Pancho paused to reach into the pocket of her flight jacket.
She fished out some cash that she dropped on the kitchen table, saying, “In case I’m too busy to write her a note tomorrow, please pass along my apologies and this money to the lady of the house for the mess we’ve made of her clean floors. ”
The farmer’s wife must’ve been just beyond the kitchen, for she stepped into the room immediately and scooped up the money, her eyes rounding as she realized how much Pancho had left for her.
After trading smiles and nods with the woman, Pancho followed Amelia and the other pilots outside. In the distance, headlights cut through the night, zigzagging up and down the country roads.
The press wasn’t going to disappoint her in arriving as she’d predicted. Agent Pullman and his men were walking back toward the plane. The press aimed their headlights at the men and closed in.
“We’d better get out of here if we don’t want the reporters to catch us with a bunch of Feds and cops,” Amelia declared. “I don’t relish dodging those questions.”
Marvel was watching the press hop out of their cars and converge on Pullman and his men. “Think Agent Pullman will rat us out to the press?”
Pancho shook her head. “He won’t. The guy is overly sure of his own opinion, but he’s devoted to cleaning up dope smuggling. He’s trying to make this world a better place.”
“Thanks for arriving to save our necks,” Phoebe said. “You were spectacular in there.”
Amelia flashed one of her trademark grins that had charmed the world. “I mean to win this race, ladies,” she declared, “but my victory won’t be worth beans if the best competitors aren’t in it.”
Pancho laughed. “Fact is, I’ve already planned my victory party. My friends are waiting in Cleveland for me to arrive and pick up my trophy.”
“Last time you ladies will see me is at the starting line . . . right before I leave you in the dust!” Amelia promised.
They traded a few more humorous jibes as they climbed into the cars.
Pancho was last in and called to everyone, “No matter who wins, we’ve all got some history to make!”